


Even When I Lose

by MandalaRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x23 fix-it, Canon Compliant through 12X23, Canonical Character Death, Crowley Still Dies Though, Gen, He Just Dies In-Character, Hopefully a Satisfying One Though, Not A Happy Ending, then canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: “Squirrel, you bloody imbecile!  Do you actively have a death wish or is self-sacrificing idiot just your default setting?”“What, this was your big plan?  Offer up some unsuspecting angel as a sacrifice while we turn tail and skedaddle through the rip?”“You don’t even like angels, you whiskey-soaked pile of flannel and denim!  And he wasn’t even anyone important.  I bloody checked!”





	Even When I Lose

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically, I read something about Mark Sheppard today and was reminded of this episode. And even though it was almost two years ago now, it turns out it still really pisses me off, because Crowley just wouldn't go out that way. So I fixed it. I'm not the first to write a fix-it for this episode by any means, but it still made me feel marginally better.

“That’s the last of it, that’s everything.”

“No, it’s not,” Crowley doesn’t waste time looking at Sam Winchester as he readies the ingredients and quickly outlines the sigils for the _other_ spell he’s planned for this day.

“What?” the moose’s over-sized features scrunch up in confusion.

Speaking slowly to ensure the Plaid Wonder doesn’t miss his words, Crowley elaborates, “If you want to heal that rip, we need one more, minor ingredient.”

“What?” repeats Winchester-the-Younger dumbly and Crowley fights an eyeroll.  He’s not even the world’s cleverest moose by half.

“A life.”  Crowley activates the second spell and a moment later, the muffled sounds of fists against bruising flesh cease as Lucifer pauses his toying with the elder Winchester.

“Hello, Brother!” greets the fallen angel, voice light but eyes carrying a deadly glint.

“Lucifer?” the bewildered angel replies, casting furtive, panicked glances around him as Crowley allows himself a sigh of relief that the angel summoning he’d just performed was as effective in this world as it would have been in their own.

“But you’re dead!”  And oh, this might actually be fun to watch if Crowley didn’t have more urgent matters to attend to.  As it is, he moves just out of Lucifer’s sight, waiting for the moment when he can safely extract Dean Winchester and get them all out of this forsaken shithole of a world.

“Am I?” asks Lucifer, stretching out his arms and looking down at himself in mock-surprise.  “In that case, I’m sure this won’t hurt a bit.”  Grinning wickedly, Lucifer reveals his angel blade and readies it in his hand.  This is it.  Eyes glued on the archangel, Crowley takes a single step toward Dean before he starts immediately cursing the man’s existence.

“Hey, you flying dick bag!  Did you forget something?”

Oh, bloody Hell!  _Why_ are the pretty ones always so utterly, unwaveringly, _stupid_?  The Winchesters, in particular, are approximately 30% chiseled good looks, 67% flannel, and 3% brains, Crowley laments woefully to himself as Lucifer’s attention shifts back to the bloodied Winchester currently resembling a lumberjack on the wrong side of a felled tree.

The other angel, displaying an instinct for survival that far outstrips that of most his kin, flees.

“Squirrel, you bloody imbecile!  Do you actively have a death wish or is self-sacrificing idiot just your default setting?”

“What, this was your big plan?  Offer up some unsuspecting angel as a sacrifice while we turn tail and skedaddle through the rip?”

“You don’t even _like_ angels, you whiskey-soaked pile of flannel and denim!  And he wasn’t even anyone _important._ I bloody checked!” 

“He’s not wrong, you know,” drawls Lucifer in his obnoxiously nasal voice, “he wouldn’t even have been missed.  But, unfortunately, he seems to have ‘skedaddled’ as you so charmingly put it and my Father did always say you should never draw an angel blade unless you intend to use it..”

Without warning or hesitation, Lucifer surges toward the eldest Winchester brother, angel blade thrust forward in a killing strike.

Unthinking, Crowley leaps forward, shoving Dean beyond the reach of Lucifer’s blade and toward the rift between worlds.  Looking down, he realizes that while he was quick, he wasn’t quick enough and the archangel’s blade is now embedded in his own gut.  It’s not quite a killing blow yet, but a few more inches and it will be. 

Oh, the _embarrassment!_   Dying for the goddamn, bloody Winchesters!  For a moment, Crowley is quite relieved he won’t survive this.  Not that he _wants_ to die, of course.  He’s so young; barely a handful of centuries old.  He should have _millennia_ left.  His bloody _mother_ will outlive him, the insufferable hag!  It’s true what they say, you know, a parent really should never outlive their child.  Crowley wishes fervently he’d killed her when he’d had the chance.

Ah well, the spell requires a life, and while he’d rather it not be his, needs must.  After all, he prides himself on being adaptable.  Well, if he’s being completely honest (which he never is), as a demon, Crowley prides himself on many things:  his bloodlust, his ruthlessness, his unquestionable sexual prowess.. he’s sure adaptability is in there somewhere.  Besides, it’s only Lucifer’s obvious enjoyment of his suffering that is extending his life even these few precious moments, the twisted archangel’s eyes glowing red with sadistic glee.  If one is to meet one’s untimely demise, he supposes, there are worse ways to expire than by spiting the flying monkey currently skewering him like a demon kebab.

Baring his teeth in a feral grin, Crowley fists his hand in Lucifer’s shirt, dragging the angel closer and impaling himself further on the bastard’s blade.  In his periphery, he sees Moose dragging Squirrel toward the soon-to-be-sealed tear in reality. 

Lucifer raises his eyebrows, surprised and unwillingly impressed, as Crowley grates out, “There’s one thing you should always remember about me, you sad, over-stuffed sack of feathers and daddy issues..” He pauses as both Winchesters turn to witness his final moments.

“Even when I lose, I win.”

Grasping Lucifer’s elbow in his free hand, Crowley jerks the surprised archangel forward, thrusting the angel blade the last couple of inches into his blackened heart. 

_Even when I lose.._

He has just enough time to see the knowledge of the trap register in Lucifer’s eyes before the enraged archangel rips his blade free of the demon’s body and his eyes flare red for the last time.

_I win._


End file.
